After Inheriting $80M From My Grandparents, My Parents Demanded the Money, I Refused

“Hell, I know some guys in real estate in New York who’d snap this up in a heartbeat,” he continued. “A place like this, close to the ski towns, it’s prime property.”

I shrugged, not looking at him. “I’m not selling. At least not right now. This was Grandpa and Grandma’s house; I want to take my time.”

He rolled his eyes but said nothing. We sipped our tea in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the drip of the faucet and the faint ticking of the old wall clock.

That night I barely slept. After Tyler went to bed in the guest room, formerly my grandfather’s study, I sat at the kitchen table and went through the trust documents again.

I checked every page and every signature. I double-checked the deed, the statements, and the receipts for every expense.

I kept my lawyer’s number on speed dial and made a copy of every important paper, hiding them in a folder in my bedroom closet. I knew with a sinking certainty that I was going to need them.

I tried to quiet my mind by reading, but the words blurred together on the page. I wandered the halls in my pajamas, pausing to look at the family photographs still hung on the walls.

I saw my grandparents on their wedding day, my mother and uncle as children, and Tyler and me as toddlers playing in the yard. The house was filled with echoes, and I wondered, not for the first time, what they would make of the tension now simmering within its walls.

The next morning dawned gray and cold. I found Tyler in the study, the door slightly ajar.

He was rifling through drawers, with papers and old photographs scattered on the floor around him. He looked up, startled, when I appeared in the doorway.

“What are you doing?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.

He grinned, unbothered. “Looking for my old baseball cards. Remember those? I think I left them here years ago. It could be worth something now.”

I didn’t believe him, not for a second. Tyler had never cared about baseball, and the cards he owned as a kid were worth more to my grandparents than to him.

“Still,” I let it go. Picking a fight now would only make things worse.

“I’ll help you look later,” I said, turning to leave. “I’ve got some errands to run in town.”

By midday, the house was filled with the scent of cleaning supplies and the distant sound of Tyler’s music played too loud from his phone. I tried to focus on scrubbing the kitchen floor, anything to keep my mind from spiraling into anxiety.

I could hear my phone buzzing on the counter with messages from mom. There were updates about her ETA, reminders to pick up extra groceries, and complaints about the traffic out of Boston.

She arrived late in the afternoon, her car crunching up the gravel driveway with a plume of dust trailing behind her. I watched from the window as she climbed out, wrapped in a tailored gray coat, her hair perfectly styled despite the long drive.

She swept up the porch steps with the confidence of someone who knew she belonged everywhere she went. The door swung open before I could reach it.

Mom stroded into the foyer, pausing only to take in the high ceilings and worn hardwood floors.

“Aden,” she said, leaning in for a quick, perfunctory hug. She smelled of expensive perfume and winter air. “You look tired. Are you sleeping enough?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but she was already moving on. Her gaze darted around the house, taking in every detail and every imperfection.

“God, this place is enormous. How are you managing all this by yourself?”

She dropped her purse on the hall table, shrugged out of her coat, and handed it to me as if I were the hired help.

“I’m doing fine,” I replied, struggling not to sound defensive. “I’ve been fixing things up bit by bit.”

She made a face as if the idea of me handling anything practical was absurd. “Well, you don’t have to do it alone. That’s why I’m here. We can make a plan.”

She breezed through the house, Tyler trailing after her, both of them talking over each other with suggestions and questions.

Shouldn’t I get the roof inspected by a professional? Wasn’t it dangerous to be here by myself? Had I considered how much it would cost to keep the place heated through the winter?

Did I know what the taxes would be like now that the property was solely in my name? Every question felt less like concern and more like a subtle accusation, a reminder that in their eyes I was not equipped to handle this on my own.

They found their way into the living room, where the afternoon light filtered through lace curtains, turning the dust motes to gold. Mom perched on the edge of the sofa, her posture perfect and her eyes sharp.

“Listen, Aiden,” she began, her tone brisk. “You’re not going to keep this place all to yourself, are you? It’s too much for one person.”

“You’re not even good at handling money,” she continued. “No offense, but I know how much you struggled after college. This is a big responsibility.”

She paused, letting her words settle like a weight in the room.

“I’ve been thinking. It would be best if I helped you manage the estate, just until you get your feet under you. I’ve done all the paperwork before. You know I’m good with numbers.”

“If you give me power of attorney, I can handle the bills, the taxes, and the legal stuff,” she said. “You wouldn’t have to worry about a thing.”

Tyler nodded enthusiastically as if this were the most reasonable plan in the world. I felt a rush of anger, hot and sudden, but I kept my expression neutral.

“I appreciate your concern, Mom,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “But I’ve already hired a lawyer. Everything’s in a trust. I’ve got it under control.”

She raised an eyebrow, a small, dismissive smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“A lawyer? Those people will bleed you dry, Aiden. Family looks out for family.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said, forcing a polite smile. Inside, my mind was racing.

I knew what this was: an attempt to get a foot in the door, to take control of something that was never meant to be hers. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of small talk, passive-aggressive comments, and a mounting sense of dread.